


Quiet

by Moth1988



Category: Sam & Max
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Comfort/Angst, Crying, Discussion of 305, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moth1988/pseuds/Moth1988
Summary: Max's finally tells Sam about what happened before he traveled to his dimension.I.e. Max tells Sam about what happened when and after his version of Sam died.
Relationships: Max/Sam (Sam & Max)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 80





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is a tad bit different then what recurring readers are used to from me, but I hope you enjoy it anyhow!
> 
> If you all want to see more fluff/comfort type of works, please let me know! 
> 
> Thank you and I hope you enjoy! :)

"So, what was it like?"   
  
Max blinks, stunned into a momentary silence. 

The silence doesn't last long before he's breaking it after a moment or two of stunned blinking.

"Huh?"

Sam fiddles with his tie, tugging at it almost nervously. He won't look at Max for a second, but finally he swallows and takes a breath, visibly steeling his nerves. "You know, after ya blew Sa-- erh, _me_ up and all." He laughs, but it's a low and rough sound with no humor in it that Max can find. "Ya never really told me."

The lagomorph's not one to usually be thrown off guard, but that literal definition of a loaded question has him at a loss for words. He just looks at him for a second, and Sam looks back. Max blinks again, toying with his hands in his lap, staring down at them as the shock of the question fades and the dread of having to think about it sinks in. 

Did Sam really have to phrase it like _that_? And what has him so curious all of a sudden? He glances to the program buzzing away on the television.

Frankly, he hadn't been paying much attention to whatever was playing, looks like some sitcom. He had honestly been dozing off until Sam had snapped him out if his peaceful slumber with a bombshell like that.  
  
Sure, Sam's mentioned the whole dimensional shift thing once or twice. Lamented over what he's seen and the kind of choice he had to make, if there was really any choice to it at all. 

From what Max understands, there wasn't much difference between the two and their timelines, asides from the minor things. The weather that day, the time the two spent apart, things like that.

He doesn't like to think about it.

The room's quiet, and it's awkward. An uncomfortable stillness falling over the two where he just blinks blankly at the other, trying to get his bearings and reering from the question. He's _stunned_ , for the first time in a long time.

Max doesn't think he's ever felt such a thing in his life, _awkwardness_ like this. He's too confident to feel awkward, but right now the feeling is suffocating, and he squirms under Sam's intense gaze. 

He fidgets and grins up at him nervously. "Uh, not that I'm avoidin' the question, Sam..." He twiddles his thumbs together. "But what exactly brought this up?"

Sam glances back to the television. "Today marks a month since it all happened, just thought I'd ask." 

Sam seems ready to drop it, if that's what Max wants. And sure, y'know, he'd _like_ to keep living in blissful ignorance of the whole thing, never to be spoken of again, but he knows that's not realistic. He can't avoid the topic forever, and if his pal wants to talk about it, he won't deny him that.  
  
Finally, he just laughs, quiet and dry in return, the most he can manage without bitterness seeping it's way into his voice at the moment. Hell, the whole thing makes him feel bitter, but lamenting over how unfair the whole situation was isn't going to change the past, is it?

"I shot a guy."

Sam chokes on air, hacking and pounding at his chest. Finally, when he finds his breath again, he's laughing too, hearty and genuine. " _What_? You _shot_ a guy?"

Max giggles. "And you _didn't_? Oh, Sam, I am hurt!" He feigns offense, hand clutching at imaginary pearls, and they're both just laughing for a moment before the silence creeps it's way back into the room. He coughs to clear the air. "I uh, kinda snapped." He giggles. "I shot Flint." 

Sam stares at him, wide-eyed. "You shot _Flint_? _Flint Paper_? I thought you loved that guy!" He pauses, toying anxiously with his tie again. "Uh, at least you," He mutters. "You have before, don't know if that uh, changed or anythin'." He spits out the accursed word like a gum that's been chewed too long, and Max ignores the little uneasy tug in his chest.

Max nods his head with a grin. "I do! _Still_ do, one of the coolest guys I know, but not the coolest guy, of course." He winks at Sam, earning a little chortle. "And it's not like I _killed_ him, Sam! I just shot him in the arm! Nicked him, more than anything, guy's got an _impressive_ set of reflexes." He laughs. "I'm not a _monster_ ," There's a second or two where he pauses, and gives a nervous little chuckle, the irony apparent. "'Least not in _my_ dimension, Sam." 

The awkward silence stills the air again, and Max can't help but cringe at his poor choice of words when Sam doesn't break the hush in the room. "Sorry, too soon?" With a vague gesture, he's just about wanting to curl inside of himself with regret. "Uh, y'know, ' _respect the dead_ ' and all."

Sam scoots closer to him with a sigh, arm making it's way around his shoulders. "Nah, it's fine, little buddy. Besides, you're right here. You can hardly call that a death, can you?" He poses the question, and metaphorical or not Max isn't sure it's something he wants to think on for too long.

He nods, leaning against Sam's side and embracing the touch. "Heh, suppose not, Sam." 

There's this hush again, but it's not uncomfortable this time around. Max breaths a shaky sigh and closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth his larger pal brings with him. It's helpful, grounds him to reality, he guesses. Reminds him that the big guy is right there, and that he's not going anywhere anytime soon. 

"Can't believe you _shot_ a guy, though." Sam laughs. "Actually, no, I _absolutely_ can believe it. I know how tough it was to be without you, and that was only fifteen minutes. Can't believe how ya must have felt, repairing that elevator and all. I probably woulda shot a guy, too, knowin' I had to do all that."

Max wraps an arm around Sam's middle, hoping the guy gets the message and doesn't let go. Sam's right, and that's the difference between the two of them. He worked damn hard on that machine, and even though he hardly slept a wink it still took him _weeks_. It never got any easier, adjusting to Sam when he wasn't around anymore, swore he started hallucinating after ditching sleep entirely for awhile. He could always hear his voice, uncharacteristically quiet when he told him to just do it, press the damn button and...

Well, _shit_. He really doesn't wanna think about it, really _didn't_ , but he is now. Can't quite forget that voice of his, reasoning with him to do what had to be done. Swore that whole dramatic monologue of his echoed in his mind for weeks afterwards. He tries to shrug away the tremors that starts in his hands and then spreads throughout his small frame, but it's not a feeling he can shake away.

He can remember layin' on the broad's couch and analysing every word bouncin' around his skull like a really morbid tennis ball. Snippets echoed of Sam's thick accent and the smell of somethin' burning, probably the city or whatever fire he was engulfing the talking fragments of him with.

Sam had told him it wasn't his fault, that whole thing was ,"gonna be a crapshoot with no solution from the start". He had told him the whole thing was a puzzle they couldn't solve this time around, and he knew there was no way around it, no alternative route. 

Max remembers laughing, because the guy always had to be melodramatic, didn't he? Then he remembers crying, holding the controller in shaking hands and begging Sam not to make him do it. Said he'd get on his knees and _really_ beg, if that's what the big guy wanted.

Someone had given him this remote, big red button glaring at him when his partner had told him to do it, press it and end the sorry display. To save the world while destroying _his_.

He can remember crying against his own control, ears dropping and sniffling when he had reasoned with him. "Ya can't be _serious_ , Sam?"

Guy was more serious than, well... than the situation at hand, he guesses.

Sam had saved the goddamn _entire_ world from that shitty toybox and he _died_?

How was that _fair_? It didn't make sense, he recalls his head spinning when it ever so slowly wrapped around the fact that Sam wasn't going to make it out of this case. 

He shakes his head, snapping him out of the whole recollection. "Ya know, when they told me there was nothin' to be done, I just..." He pauses. "I just _screamed_ , think they expected me to be all quiet and brooding but... I'm not like that, Sam." He drops his shaky smile, not seeing much of a point in keeping up the whole humorous facade. "It was awfully dramatic, my legs gave out from under me and I just wailed like a banshee. Felt like somethin' physically broke inside of me." He dangles his legs off of the couch they've been sitting on for the past half hour and stares at the ground.

He doesn't like to think about it all too much, how everything went down that night. But he supposes now's about as good a time as any, when he can't convince himself the guy's not here. Not when he's holding him like he is right now.

"Wasn't yellin' at anyone in particular, but I was cryin' like a baby, Sam." He pauses with a small laugh to himself. "Heh, ya weren't even there to see the whole performance I was puttin' on for ya. Flint went to try and comfort me and I, I dunno the gun just went off. Guess he startled me, guess I didn't like the way he said he was ' _sorry_ ', like you were really gone, Sam." Max heaves in a shaky breath, cursing at the tremble in his voice. 

He's not going to cry, he swears it. He's cried enough as it is, and if there's one thing he learned from the whole excursion, it's that crying doesn't do him any good. "Guy wasn't even mad, he just laughed that laugh he has, all noir and stuff. Like the bullet in his arm was funny." He giggles a bit at the thought, though it doesn't abate the sinking feeling in his stomach for long. "Then uh.. he said that he didn't blame me, said he'd probably do the same." The lagomorph sniffles, gnawing at his bottom lip and biting back tears. "Said he wished there was somethin' he could do and I just crumpled onto the floor like a wadded up piece of paper because I knew that was it," He huffs, kicking his legs dangelling beneath him like it'll shake the feeling away. It doesn't. "If _Flint Pape_ r was givin' up, then that was really it, there was _nothin_ ' to be done. It was over."

Something's funny about that, the decrepit irony of it all, and he can't help but giggle, much to Sam's surprise. 

"The _look_ on everyone's faces, Sam! They looked so sad at that sorry display infront of 'em but so stunned at the same time, to see a psychotic rabbit cryin' like a baby. Probably would of laughed more if I hadn't been cryin' so hard." He feels Sam bring him in a little bit closer and he clasps his hands together again, trying to keep as blank of an expression as he could.

If he couldn't smile through this, then the _least_ he could do was not make a fool of himself and blubber like a child. Max screws his eyes shut, shaking his head like he's trying to block out the unwelcomed memory, and the sweet way Sam's just listen' to his ramblings so intently, rubbing soothingly at his back...

It has him choking, and he presses a hand to his mouth when his stomach churns. But he doesn't get sick like he thinks he might, he just gulps down the thickness in his throat and blinks back tears as he bites down this low whimpering sound in his throat.

He doesn't want to be quiet for too long though, he can't stand the silence that falls on the room like a cold, wet blanket. "It was so quiet without you, everyone was so _quiet_ and they," His laugh isn't one of humor, but it comes out more like he's choking than anything else. There's just something so funny about it, about the irony of it all. Switching so quickly from gags and laughs to the striking silence when the reality of it all had started to sink in. Gave him whiplash, honestly, but that hadn't dulled the pain. "They didn't know what to say. It was so, so damn _quiet_ that I just _screamed_ , and I watched the screens like you'd suddenly pop back up, like I didn't just wipe out every fuckin' trace of you."  
  
Sam pats him on the back gingerly with a chuckle. "Language, Max."

Max giggles, almost deliriously for a moment, his grief bubbling out of him in the form of disturbing humor. "Shut up, Sam! I get one f-bomb; _legally_! I'm havin' a moment here," He crosses his arms across his chest. "I'm a grievin' widow, Sam. Give me a break!" 

Sam just laughs himself, pulling him in close again, and the pause that follows has that grief sinking back in. It's hard to pull himself back to the reality of right _now_. That Sam's next to him and he ain't going anywhere. "Sorry, buddy, guess you're right. Go on."

Max huffs. "As I was _sayin_ ' before I was rudely interrupted..." He leans against Sam's plush side again, brows furrowed. The pause was nice, but a cold feeling has his stomach churning uncomfortably again. 

"Anyways, yeah, nicked him in the arm. Cried like a broad, or somethin' just as pathetic. Felt like I was dyin', and I don't remember much else besides snivellin' and gettin' sick in the alleyway." He chuckles. "I hated you so much when I stumbled outta the lab, right after I watched ya disappear on those big screens. 'Cause I knew if ya didn't give such a _damn_ about the city under your feet, you wouldn't have..." He trails off, the sick and deep cold pit in his stomach making him shake. Or at least, that's what he tells himself when he starts trembling again.

He remembers that moment, the crushing feeling of loss. He vividly remembers feeling like the only thing keeping him from floating away or disintegrating entirely was the cold brick on his back when he collapsed against it. The agonizing quiet in that alleyway, the silence of it only broken by his retching is a feeling that he swears will never leave him.

He stops fidgeting with his hands, wrapping his lanky arms around his middle. "It was so _dark_ , and y'know I never did much like the darkness, Sam. Still don't." Max pauses, trailing off as he tries hard to think about what happened after that. It's all a blur, between his wailing and retching, all he remembers is the smell of petrichor and the feeling of dizziness that had over taken him when he watched the storm clouds clear and reveal that Sam wasn't magically looming behind them. "I think someone came to find me, can't imagine I was the nicest to them. The only thing after that I can remember is stayin' on Sybil's couch for a week until I got my shit together enough to fix that damn elevator."

Sam cocks his head. "Sybil's? She didn't mind ya crashing on her couch with the baby and all?" 

Max just looks at him with a confused expression for a second before he shakes his head, clearing the daze. It's always disarming when he's reminded of the whole timeline differences between the both of them. It's something he'd rather ignore. "Uh, wasn't pregnant to begin with, her and Abe broke it off awhile ago." He laughs. 

Sam lets out a small hum. "What stopped ya then?" Sam mulls over his phrasing when Max hesitates. "I guess what I mean to ask is uh, what went _wrong_?"

Max falters, and he can't stop the shake in his voice or body when he's answering him. "You uh, weren't yourself, Sam. But a piece of ya was still there in all of that mess, but I almost wish it wasn't, y'know, honestly..." He gulps back the nausea, trying to dictate the unnerving memory to his pal. "Ya told me to uh, use the remote, shoot ya down so you couldn't hurt anyone else." He shakes his head, the feeling of frustration he felt in that moment sparking momentarily in his chest. "But you hurt me, Sam! Felt like I was dyin', being without you for so long. Swear I was goin' insane the moment you told me to do it." He rambles, getting progressively more and more heated. His face is pink and flushed against his thick fur, and he can feel the heat radiating off of him. He'd probably be more embarrassed about it if his stomach didn't hurt so bad. Makes it hard to focus on anything else.

The cold feeling in his core is so strong that he feels like he's suffocating, drowning in an icy river. Reliving it all, makes his stomach churn almost just as bad as it did that day. 

It was warm that night, humid and sticky on his fur when the storm had dissipated, but he still felt so cold alone in that alleyway despite the humidity in the air.

He truly feels like he's about to be sick when he presses his hand to his mouth, suppressing a gag. He doesn't vomit all over Sam like he expects though, but a choking sob breaks it's way out of his chest and spills past his hand. Sam just strokes at his back, pulling him in closer."I'm here, little buddy. Just let it all out." Sam soothes.

He's crying so hard that it aches, but the ice in his stomach dissipates when he starts to cry and Sam tugs him closer, snout resting gingerly ontop of his head when be buries his face into Sam's shirt. He's nuzzling deep into his partner's shirt and soaking up every touch, repeating a hazy mantra in his head. 

Sam's _right_ _there_ , he can smell him and he can feel him and he just has to remember that Sam's not going anywhere. 

It's almost peaceful.

Sam pets at his back, and even as his sobs eventually fade into stuttering hiccups, he's still clinging on when his partner starts to speak. His voice is low, but it's much more stable than Max could ever hope to be. He's always too damm emotional, always has been, especially around Sam.

Sam slowly starts to tell a story, one that parallels his own. "When they told me you weren't comin' back, I just starred at them. I reasoned, I begged, tried to come up with any sort of solution. But there _wasn't_ one, not this time. You were gone, for good this time around." Sam's comforting voice soothes him, the slight gravel in his age-old accent stops Max's sniveling entirely as he listens intently. "Didn't feel _real_ , and there was no little buddy there to crack jokes at the whole morbid situation. I didn't say another word to 'em, didn't trust what might come out. So I just walked away, and it wasn't long after that _you_ showed up, Max, just as alive as ever."

He pauses, a deep and tired sighing making it's way out of him as he pets at Max's back. "I'm sorry, little buddy. You shouldn't have had to go through that, especially not alone." Max just climbs into his lap, wrapping his arms around Sam's neck and resting his head near his shoulder. He smells the same as ever, some odd mix between wet dog and tobacco. Sam doesn't even smoke, he has no idea where the smell comes from, but it's always been comforting.

Resting a large hand on his back, Sam just holds him there, and Max has never been more grateful for the quiet.


End file.
